Rapport
by shadeshark
Summary: Leon is captured help arrives to locate him. Leon misses something. Wierd little snapshot. Oneshot. HunniganxAda.


It's an island resort on the surface; it's when you're in close you realize there's pockets of quicksand. I've been drowning in false smiles and empty gestures and claims of goodwill and fawning niceness all day. I chose to come down to the bar—not the hotel bar, a small one a few blocks away, where my confused looks and protests I don't speak the language and awkward silences fend off the charmers who come to try to pick me up.

I'm undercover, as under as I get; nobody really knows me in the first place. I'm a voice on the radio, a call over the airwaves, a signal. Those with the right encryptions have seen my face—hidden behind glasses and professional white-collared shirt, my hair bound back. I have it out of its tight bun tonight, letting it curl up and out as it wishes. It wishes; with the heat and humidity in the air, it's uncontrollable. I'm at the bar, elbows on the polished wood, wearing blue silk and contacts. I'm someone else tonight.

Nobody knows me.

And then she walks in.

Her skirt hem flares lightly as she comes through the air-conditioning, accenting how slim she is; her muscles are perfectly toned like a dancer's. I've never seen her in the flesh, never seen her intelligence or how well she hides her study of the room. She's got presence I never suspected of her, even given her attitude in the surveillance photos I've received: always confident, poised. Her fine hair is perfect, but she reaches up to straighten it anyway. Maybe it's just a pose to show off the line of her bicep and shoulder, set off the contrast between the black ribbon around her neck and the smooth tone of her skin.

She's here for the same reason I am, I know the minute I see her: she's here to try to find Leon. He needs help, whatever shape he's in; he needs someone who can slip in through the lies that wreathe this island and find him and call in the cavalry. I know who her people are; I know she might succeed.

I know we'll do better together. Especially with finding him; I know plenty of places to look, but I can't act. I'm not as good at infiltrating as I am at working contacts; I've located several boltholes and no way to get in without getting myself killed.

My plans are shifting, settling into place, trying to figure out how to provide her with proof I'll be who I say I am. The grace in her body holds my absent attention while I think, and I realize I'm staring just before the powdered lids of her dark eyes lift and she looks straight at me. Just a glance, and I feel my skin warm.

She knows who I am, I realize as her gaze drops again.

She knows I know, too, and I stop the train of thought there before I get more tangled up. I turn to the bar instead, running a finger around the rim of my empty glass and trying to clear my head. I hear her voice for the first time, in the flesh, as she says something to the bartender in low tones. Tapes and microphones never get it quite right, and I want to hear her speak again.

Then a glass slides across the bar towards me. I look up. "From the lady there," he says, avoiding my eyes as he takes the empty glass from me. I drop my fingers around its stem, admiring the colors, not wanting to look up again and give away anything more. I hear her heels click behind me, anyway, imagine I can hear the ribbons whispering against each other as she moves past me to take the empty stool.

"Imagine meeting you here."

I glance over. The light catches the delicate embroidery of her dress; butterflies glow at me. I bring my features to the expression someone meeting an old colleague. It's surprisingly well-fitting, considering how many times we've both already stepped in for Leon's sake. "You're looking well." I take a sip. "Thank you."

Her expression cools to something guarded as she glances up at the barman, but he just passes by, not quite comfortable, and her face relaxes as she opens up again. I'm honored. "I've been at wit's end trying to get anywhere in this place. The next time I take a vacation I'll be bound for Tenerife."

"I know my way around," I assure her. Her arms are beautiful. I can see a few tiny scars, some surgically made nearly-invisible, some almost hidden with concealer. "Not that I've been everywhere, you understand. But I could show you some things you might have missed."

She touches my shoulder lightly, fingers trailing down my arm. For a moment I have to look; her skin's lighter than mine, and the tones complement. She brushes my knee as she lowers her hand again, a bit too into my space to be just appearance's sake. I look up again, meet her eyes. Past the perfect liner and the fans of lashes, I see loneliness and the worn look of someone failing to help someone dear to them. I doubt anyone else has read her like that, and I wonder what she caught from me just in that second.

She leans in, just a little, cool fingers lifting a little, resting her hand on my knee now, surprising me a little. I'm finding it a little hard to look away. I have to keep my act perfect; we're in public and I'm undercover.

"You should," and her voice—she isn't acting. "But right now we need someplace more private to talk." I take another sip, leave the rest, and rise with her; her delicate fingers curl around my forearm, and then she slides her arm through mine, inner elbow to inner elbow, moving close against my side, anchoring herself to a point she can trust. Me? I'm the flower the butterfly discovers, watching the glamourous thing that chose to come find me, expectant and still.

She knows.

I know.


End file.
